


Reconquista

by gabriel42



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-14 20:27:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9201080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gabriel42/pseuds/gabriel42
Summary: When Percival Graves is rescued from Grindewald's dungeon, the mediwizards put his body back together, but his heart is another matter.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by the Confessions series by Mari, which is awesome in so many ways. Haven't read it yet? Go read it. I'll wait.

Percival Graves, newly reinstated Director of Magical Law Enforcement, had a great many important things that he needed to catch up on. There was a staggering backlog of paperwork looming on his desk, erupting out of the drawers, and even starting to spill over into the open spaces in his bookcase. And when he went out in the field, shoulder to shoulder with the men and women that he used to think of as _his_ , then there were the glances, the odd hesitations... There was so much he needed to take back. From the day he had been cleared for duty, he had spent every waking minute at MACUSA. (And if that meant that the only time he spent alone, in the apartment that used to be his home, was given to the deep, dreamless sleep of honest exhaustion – well, there was nothing wrong with that.) 

This had been going on for almost three weeks when Queenie Goldstein caught up with him in the lobby one morning, insisting that he come over for dinner, and he didn't have the strength to say no. And at some point between eating freshly charmed food, which tasted strange in his mouth, and trying to make small-talk like a normal, sane person, and keeping an iron grip on his Occlumency, he ended up inside Newton Scamander's infamous suitcase. He wasn't quite sure how that had happened, since he had barely even managed to tolerate the blatant illegality and danger of it all despite Madam President's express orders, but now that he was here, he found himself oddly at ease. The shed out of which Mr. Scamander (“Please, call me Newt; everyone does.”) operated was tiny, the ceiling all but invisible behind bundles of exotic herbs and a number of well-worn implements whose purpose he could only speculate on. The place was so chaotic, it made his brain itch. But still... 

Maybe it was just the presence of Newt himself, the gangly young man who so clearly preferred the company of his 'creatures' over humans. There was certainly no denying how much more at ease he was around them; completely in his element. He was currently feeding the mooncalves, and Percival heard his delighted laughter as the timid creatures nuzzled up to him eagerly, jostling for position as he petted them in between passing out lumps of... whatever it was they ate. Just a few feet over, one of the Graphorns was pacing behind its fence, evidently waiting for its own dinner. The horns around its neck were flaring with each breath, and the tentacles on its muzzle were waving around like a nest of hungry serpents. Apparently there were still things that could disturb even a seasoned auror. But to hear Newt talk about them, with that hopeful gleam in his eyes as he envisioned a world where they could roam free, you'd think they were a bunch of pygmy puffs, helpless at the mercy of the Evil Wizards. (The way Newt talked about wizards sometimes made Percival feel like he should point out that a few of them were actually decent people, and Merlin knew that wasn't usually his line.)

Newt had left the mooncalf habitat by now, head turned sharply towards his own shoulder, speaking quietly to the tiny bowtruckle – Pickett, Percival had learned – who was always about his person. When Newt reached up, the spindly figure – barely as long as Newt's finger – stepped onto his hand without a second's hesitation and let himself be carried along as Newt went to put away the empty buckets. 

Watching the quiet evening routine, it began to dawn on Percival that the strange quality of this place, the subliminal feeling that made it seem somehow bright and warm in ways that charms alone couldn't accomplish, was a feeling of safety. It was not a feeling he was familiar with, given his line of work. In his experience, the world just didn't work like that. But that was just it, wasn't it? This entire suitcase was some sort of fantastical island, a forgotten nook apart from normal reality, where the usual rules didn't apply and everyone could simply get along. It was frankly ridiculous, the Director of Magical Law Enforcement inside him pointed out, but somehow... it worked. Newt made it work. He had created this space, had welcomed the most terrifying monsters into it. Newt extended a hand of friendship when the only reasonable thing to expect was to have it chewed off, and somehow he still had both hands, and a lot of friends.  
(Percival suspected that the monsters on the receiving end of the gesture were so baffled by the lack of hostility that they didn't react at all, and before they knew it, Newt would be scratching their ears and sneaking them treats and writing a book about the peculiarities of their courting behavior in the process.)

And that was how Percival Graves, Head Auror of MACUSA and Director of Magical Security, irascible boss and unbending defender of the Law, began to feel that there was something special about the traveling magizoologist.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the kudos and comments! Without your encouragement, this chapter would have taken even longer...

Newt, meanwhile, wasn't going to deny that he had fallen for Director Graves. The man was certainly attractive, all poised power wrapped in elegantly tailored suits, always impeccable, always in control. Granted, the whole death sentence affair had been rather off-putting, and he didn't care to recall the cold, roiling feeling in the pit of his stomach as he watched his suitcase being dragged away across the floor of the hearing chamber... But Newt had figured out that it was Grindelwald doing these things, and the real Graves was a different person.

The real Graves, when Newt first laid eyes on him, was curled up on the floor of the lightless cell where Grindelwald had held him for almost three months. If it hadn't been for Rupert and his amazing ability to track a scent even through wards and concealment charms, they might not have gotten him back at all. As it was, the man they found had been a shadow of his former self. His body was too thin in the tattered clothes, the exposed skin mottled with bruises and welts, and there was a fine tremor coursing through his hands. The mediwitches had decided that it would be best to put him in a potion-induced slumber, and had kept him that way for the better part of a fortnight. They worked their magic, and they did it well – Newt had had to mend his own skin and bones often enough to appreciate proper healers. But what worried him were the injuries on the inside, the way Graves' eyes had darted around at the slightest noise and he flinched from every touch. Newt had seen that before, too, and it wasn't something charms and potions could heal.

But Graves, by all accounts, wouldn't let a minor inconvenience like imprisonment and torture by a powerful dark wizard stop him. “Betty Rogers from Medical almost had to Petrify him to keep him from rushing down to the DMLE the minute he woke up,” Tina recounted over dinner one night. When he eventually did get back, Graves had swept straight into his office, shut the door ('He never used to do that.') and kept utterly quiet for over an hour. “He was probably just taking stock of three months' worth of administrative work sitting on his desk,” Tina speculated, but was interrupted by a giggle from her sister. “It wasn't funny, Queenie. It's not natural when every single auror in the department is sitting at their desk, diligently writing reports, and trying not to breathe too loudly.” When the director had finally emerged and barked out orders for extra dueling practice, there had been cautiously relieved glances. (Tina had come home very late that night, with a scorch-mark on the shoulder of her blouse and a faint smell of Murtlap about her.) The dreaded dressing-down – 'Having a dark wizard sitting right in this office for _months_ and you didn't even notice; I should have you all reassigned to Magical Maintenance; worst you could do there is fuck up the plumbing.', or something to that effect – never came. “He never said a word about – about what happened,” Tina said when Queenie asked about it. 

But Graves got back into his work routine, ran case briefings, chewed out Archives when a box of evidence went up in a burst of purple flames in their holds and got President Picquery to sign off on new, tighter security protocols for all MACUSA employees. He summoned Newt to his office (The fact that Newt actually made it there was in no small part thanks to Tina's gentle coaxing – followed by a firm grip on Newt's upper arm once they actually set foot inside the building.) to formally thank him for his role in the rescue operation. He also informed Newt that President Picquery had expressly welcomed him and all his creatures to stay in New York for as long as he wished. Newt had been intently studying his left shoe by this point and had missed the expression on Graves' face, but Tina made sure to fill him in as soon as they entered the elevator back up to the lobby. Apparently Graves still didn't approve of 'dangerous' creatures dwelling in his city, even after one of them had been instrumental in rescuing him. The man certainly had principles, Newt had to give him that.

Before long, Graves was back in the field, getting back in touch with his contacts, running down smugglers and staking out shady establishments as if nothing had happened. If anything, he pursued transgressors with even greater zeal than before. When he finally threw himself in the way of a Blasting Curse meant for Delgado, everyone was relieved – the old Graves was back. 

But when Tina mentioned the incident at home later that day, Newt felt a cold weight settle in his stomach instead. This wasn't about Graves personally, of course – it had nothing to do with the strength of will that the man must have to keep going after what Grindelwald did, or about his unwavering integrity, or the fact that he hadn't thought twice before taking a hit for one of the people on his team. The only reason Newt was... concerned, yes, just concerned – was because he knew that being back on your feet and shouting and dueling didn't mean you were alright. And taking a curse for someone else – who was to say Graves had only been thinking about his colleague when he jumped? When Newt had been in Graves' office, he had managed to meet the man's eyes briefly, and the look in them was all too familiar: the brusque assertiveness, the biting remarks, the relentless efficiency – all desperate bravado, trying to hide and drown out the realization, deep down, that you were vulnerable. And whatever other feelings he may have about Percival, that look wasn't something Newt could walk away from.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things start happening. Very slowly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As noted in Newt Scamander's journal, the full moon draws mooncalves out of their burrows and into the fields, where they rise on their hind legs and perform complicated mating dances. A little-known fact is that the shy creatures will in fact also dance on other nights, a behaviour known as happy dancing, if they are fed a steady diet of reader comments. So congratulations: you may have just caused a crop circle somewhere.

Having finished the last feeding of the day, and still deep in a conversation with Pickett (assuring him that no, of course he was still Newt's favorite, even if he had scratched Matilda's chin longer than usual today), Newt barely noticed Percival leaning against the side of his shed until he almost bumped into the man. To be fair, he had hardly expected the Director of Magical Law-Enforcement to pay him a visit. Surely he hadn't stopped by to admire the Pygmy Puffs, and while Newt had no doubt that this Graves would follow through on his impostor's threats about Stunning Newt and putting him back on a boat to England the second he stepped out of line, Newt didn't think he'd actually done anything that the DMLE might object to (at least in the last week or so). (Well, he wouldn't claim to understand the finer points of all the rules and regulations that they imposed with regards to magical creatures, but surely Tina would have said something...?) Which made it all the more puzzling that Percival was here now, apparently content to watch him feed his creatures. The way he was lounging against the weathered wood, shoulders loose, no trace of the usual scowl on his face, he looked almost... relaxed.

“Director Graves,” he greeted, looking down as he felt a blush rising in his cheeks. “Newt,” Percival replied evenly, though his voice sounded much less stern here than when he was sitting behind his desk in the auror headquarters. There was a long moment of silence – neither man was one for small talk. “You do remarkable work here,” Percival finally offered. This got Newt to look up – in fact, he all but stared at Percival, not quite believing his ears. 

Percival was pleased that Newt was actually looking at him for a change, with those expressive brown eyes that always seemed a bit frightened when humans were involved. He was also, uncharacteristically, at a loss for what to say, since Newt didn't offer a reply. “Your way of taming dangerous b– creatures,” Percival caught himself just in time, “is... unusual.” This was good; this sounded more like his usual self – mind always on the job. “I don't really tame them,” Newt amended, his gaze shifting sideways again. “I just... They can tell that I won't hurt them. I listen to what they need, you know?... I just try to do right by them. It's not that special, really,” he added with a self-depreciating little shrug. 

“I think it is special, Newt,” Percival said, and Merlin knew where that had come from, and why his voice had gotten so quiet and low, but apparently Newt had noticed, too, because now he was looking up at him again, really looking at him, and suddenly he's so close that Percival can see the flecks of green in his eyes, and he can tell that Newt won't hurt him, either, that he'll listen to what _he_ needs, and suddenly that is all he can think of as he leans into the slighter man's space, tries to drown himself in this aura of safety...

And that is how Percival Graves, newly reinstated Head Auror and Director of Magical Law-Enforcement, came to be kissing Newt Scamander, while a gaggle of mooncalves looked on with their big, shiny eyes, and Pickett the bowtruckle beat back to his tree with a disgusted look on his face.


End file.
